Eagan pulls me to him and holds me tight against his broad chest.
I wind my arms around his waist and I grab at the back of his shirt with my cold fingers.
“Are you still in love with me?” His voice is ragged.
I nod and exhale a broken sob, then I desperately try to breathe the tears away. The familiar scents of cinnamon and male sweat invade my senses. They cause hurt and relief. I welcome both feelings, because this could be the last time I'm allowed to stay this close to him.
Eagan's fingers slide into my hair and then wrap around my nape. He pulls me slightly away from him. I force my eyes to open and finally I look at him. A small act of bravery.
What I see makes me tremble; Eagan's eyes are moist and his lips are stretched into a tender smile. A quick glance at his throat shows me that his heart is beating wildly, just like mine.
“What?” I whisper my question and press my palms to his warm chest.
Eagan brushes a kiss across my temple.
“Please don't,” I tell him.
He pulls back a little to stare at my expression.
“Why not?” There's a feeble tremor in his voice.
“Because your kindness, right now, hurts me.” My words are a rasping plea.
“Close your eyes. Pay attention. Trust me.” The orders are given with kindness.
I hesitate.
“Say yes, Brina.” He insists.
I close my eyes.
Once again, he cradles my face in his hands. His soft lips whisper across my eyelids, the bridge of my nose, my cheekbones. When they reach my jaw, they become more insistent, then they part and the tip of Eagan's tongue touches my skin.
I heave a sigh full of questions.
“Keep listening,” Eagan murmurs against my skin.
I open my mouth, but I have no words. Eagan nibbles at my upper lip, then at my lower lip.
I whimper.
His tongue slips inside my parted lips and strokes my tongue. It's a tentative touch at first, but soon it becomes more urgent. Our breathing grows more labored. Our hands caress, search, clutch. Our bodies melt into one another.
I link my arms around his neck, while Eagan seizes my waist and lifts me, so that I straddle his hips. As we devour each other, I grind into his pelvis. The feeling is so good, a deep moan explodes in my chest. Eagan responds with a groan imbued with want. I move greedily against his erection; this time he doesn't stop me.
My senses awaken. All of a sudden, I smell the humid grass beneath us; I hear the people around us laughing and talking; I feel the brush of the sun against my skin.
I press my body against Eagan's harder still, for I realize that his heat is melting the icy fingers underneath my skin.
When Eagan breaks our kiss, I utter a needy sound. Eagan laughs softly. I gaze at his handsome face and I see tears and bliss in his eyes.
“Did you listen carefully?” He asks.
I nod. “You're in love with me.” Immense elation pervades my words.
Eagan feathers kisses all over my face. My skin hums. I want more, so I press into him. He groans. This time, however, his arms arrest my movements.
“Kiss me again,” I demand.
“We are in a very public place,” he murmurs against my lips.
“Oh.”
We find a stone bench bathed with sunlight. I sit on Eagan's lap and curl up against his chest. His arms hold me close; a familiar cradle of velvet and steel.
Eagan nuzzles my hair and draws me in.
“I have a story to tell you,” he says.
“I'm listening.”
“Four years ago, when you kissed me, I was awake. Not opening my eyes. Letting you go. Those were hardest things I've ever done. I felt guilty. I enjoyed so much your kiss. You tasted so good. I was aroused. I was confused. You were my best friend. And you were inappropriately young. But I wanted you. That's why I let you walk away. That's why I didn't pursue you. During the following years, I tried to forget about your soft lips. About your hard nipples pressed to my arms. About your sounds of pleasure. It was impossible. The taste of the other women felt all wrong. Then David died and everything changed. But I kept thinking about you. I knew I had to have you. But I had to do it right. You weren't just a crush. You were my love. I studied really hard. I wanted to be the best in my class. After my graduation some friends put me in contact with the people I'm working for here, in Rome. Then I searched for the perfect apartment to share with you. Small, but comfortable. There was an obstacle, though. I knew you were trying to bury your feelings for me. So I had to rouse them again. I know I've been torturing you, playing with your desires. But I don't regret doing it, because now you're mine.”
A jolt of spring wind surges and shrouds us. It creates a warm cocoon filled with scents; among them, a touch of cinnamon.
Eagan's soft words sound like a sweet lullaby. I drink them in and let them satiate my need.
I sit up and stroke his lovely features with my fingertips. As he closes his eyes, I nibble at his rough jaw, his chin, and then I tease his lips with the tip of my tongue. Eagan heaves a sigh full of bliss.
“I've always been yours, Eagan. I love you.”
“I love you too, Brina.”
I've missed those words so much, that upon hearing them my heart leaps painfully. A wail escapes my lips.
Eagan grips the back of my neck, his fingers tangle in my inky strands. Then he kisses me with fierce longing.
I curl my arms around his strong neck and I let him heal me.
“You didn't take your car?” Eagan asks me, as I grasp his hand and I lead him toward the subway entrance.
“No.”
He squeezes my fingers and I smile up at him. His expression makes my knees weak; it's so full of gratitude and relief that I almost promise him never to drive again.
“Will you tell me more about David?” I demand.
“Yes. But not today.” He responds gravely.
The Roman public transportation is extremely slow. However, today I don't mind, for I sit on Eagan's lap during the entire journey. In between tender kisses, I tell him about Clémentine and the “resurrection party”.
We stop briefly at his place, so that he can pack an overnight bag. Then we catch two more buses to get to my apartment. Finally, we stop at Clém's favorite Rosticceria, which is close to where we live, to buy her preferred comfort food: Supplì, arancini and filetti di baccalà.
“I'm sorry,” Eagan says, while we wait for our turn to pay.
“For what?”
“The day we went to the park, I saw Marco and Virginie.”
“Yes, you told me.”
“Well, they were all cozy, but I didn't think much of it, because, you know-” He hesitates and bows his head shyly.
I find the action quiet endearing.
“What?” I encourage him.
“Because I'm like that too. I'm open and affectionate with everyone,” he concludes.
I wrap my arms around his waist and I bury my face in his shirt. Images appear in my head of Marco and Virginie dancing, and then sharing an innocent kiss.
“It doesn't matter now, Eagan. I only want Clém to be happy again.”
Eagan kisses the top of my head and holds me for a few moments. Then, before I can protest, he lets go of me and pays for our food.
“I want to take care of you and your friends,” he explains.
I close the door of Clém's bedroom to keep outside the voices of Eagan and the twins, but mostly the heavy smell of fried food.
The room is illuminated by the discreet light of the bedside lamp.
Clémentine is not a tidy person; she's too busy living life to worry about cleaning and dusting. I don't mind, because I appreciate her energy. She's always reading, watching movies, or going to theater shows. And every morning she runs. I both admire and envy her vivacity.
Now her space smells of tears and sleep. The floor is a battlefield of books, clothes and tissue papers. My active friend has b
een sleeping all day long.
I open the window to let the spring night in; I hope it will chase away some of the sadness that lingers in the bedroom.
Clém stirs and sits up, propping her back up against her pillow. I sit beside her on the narrow bed and I gently stroke her long, blond hair.
“Thanks for the party, but I'm not leaving this bed,” she says, her voice small and rough.
“Can I fetch you something very unhealthy to eat?”
She gives me a sad smile. “No, thanks.”
“What can I do, Clém?”
For a moment a mischievous spark appears in her green eyes. She glances quickly at the door. “Tell me about your American dude.”
“He loves me,” I blurt out. ”He came here for me. He wants me to move in with him. Well, he didn't ask me explicitly, but he thought about us living together when he chose his apartment. Anyway, I'll keep paying my half of the rent until you find another roommate, don't worry. I doubt Eagan will let me pay for anything. He wants to take care of me. It's very sweet, but still-”
Clém squeezes my hand, interrupting my monologue.
“Are you happy, Brina?” She demands.
“Yes.” My heart springs in unison with my answer.
Then a dense silence descends. It blankets us in a choking embrace. We turn to stare at the shelf where the television set used to be situated. Now it's a dusty emptiness.
At length, Clém shakes her head and grabs the pillow from behind her. Then she begins to punch it.
“My best friend and my boyfriend. I'm a frigging cliché,” she grumbles.
“Punishing evil pillows is satisfying, but saying the f-word is very satisfying,” I offer.
She hits her poor pillow one more time.
“Fuck! I am a cliché and I hate it!” She declares loudly.
The door bursts open, letting Alessio inside. He stares at us, shielding his mouth with his hand; a pose of fake consternation.
“You said fuck,” he hisses.
As soon as I step into our small living room, I know something I will not like is about to happen. I glance at the closed door of Clém's bedroom, and I wish I were still there, talking to her and Alessio.
Eagan and Ivan are sitting cross-legged on the floor, around our small coffee table. The crumbs in their plates and the empty bottles tell me about their full stomachs, while the lap-tops in front of them are the opening of a story I don't want to hear.
Eagan smiles, but in his eyes there's a smoky intensity that makes me tremble. Conversely, Ivan avoids my gaze.
Then the show begins.
“This friend of mine owns a club. He needs a band. For tomorrow night,” Eagan says.
“We're a band. And we're available,” Ivan adds.
“We are? What did Alessio say?” I ask.
“He wants to play. Our songs.”
“This friend of mine doesn't like cover-bands,” Eagan puts in.
“Too bad, because we are a cover-band,” I insist.
“Well, Alessio and I are also composers. We really want to play our songs,” Ivan declares.
“Who's going to sing? Marco is out.” I feel cornered, for I already know their answer.
“You will sing. You have an amazing voice, kitty-cat.” Eagan's tone is soothing.
“I don't know the songs,” I retort. But I recognize that it is a poor excuse.
“Yes, you do. We played them for you. And you played with us, remember?” Ivan is overly enthusiastic.
I am defeated.
“Just say yes, Brina.” Eagan concludes the show.
I nod. I want to punch some innocent pillows.
While I clean up, Eagan and Ivan focus their attention on their computers.
“What's the name of the band?” Eagan asks.
“We are Awesome,” Ivan answers.
“Really?”
“Yes. And it's not ironic.”
I am mad.
I hate feeling trapped and pushed, but I don't want to disappoint Eagan and the twins. They are aware of it, and they've used that knowledge against me.
I switch on all the lights in my bedroom, because I need to disperse all the night shadows, along with the idea of intimacy.
I grab a quick shower, I don't shave, I don't wash my hair, I don't prime my body for sex, for I'm too upset. I yank on dark sweatpants and a purple tank-top. I don't plan to entice, I only need to feel comfortable.
When I step in my room, however, I regret all my hasty decisions. Eagan is sitting on my bed. He's wearing black sweatpants, and nothing else. I'm tempted to fall on my knees in front of him and trace with my fingertips and tongue the sprinkle of golden hair on his muscular chest, and then the path of dark-blond hair on his taut stomach, that vanishes inside the waistband of his pants.
Just like earlier, his gaze is dusky and consuming. Even as it roams my body, heat gathers between my legs.
There's a sharp ache inside me, that craves relief; Eagan is both the reason and the cure.
“You're mad at me,” he says.
“Yes.”
“You're going to forgive me.”
“I am?”
“Yes. We need each other too much. Come here.”
His voice is hoarse and it is deeply connected to the strings of my desire. I can't fight the pull. I go to him.
He opens his legs and I step between them. I rest my hands on his broad shoulders, as he wraps his arms around my waist, tugging my body toward his.
Our breaths stutter and merge.
“Take the top off,” he rasps out.
My fingers slide reluctantly away from his warm skin to wrap around the hem of my tank-top; in one swift movement I peel it off and drop it to the floor. My long hair falls back over my shoulders, teasing my sensitive skin.
Eagan nuzzles and licks the soft valley between my breasts. I whimper and frame his head in my hands, digging my fingers in his hair.
“I love your hair. It's like a waterfall of black ink,” he utters softly.
Then he takes one of my nipples into his mouth and suckles, hard.
I moan his name and bend my torso to offer him more of my flesh. Eagan growls his approval.
His uninjured hand leaves my waist and slides beneath the waistband of my sweatpants, and under my panties. While his mouth nips and torments my stiff nipples, his fingers graze my slit and then push inside me.
He groans against my skin.
I bury my face in his hair, to muffle my sounds of pleasure.
The heel of his hand presses against my clitoris, as his fingers thrust inside me. I grind into his hand, seeking, panting, then mewling my release.
Eagan's lips abandon my breast to capture my mouth and my sobs, while his hand strokes my back in a soothing motion.
Eventually, he gently breaks the kiss; he licks and nibbles at my lips, then he smiles.
“Are you still mad at me?”
“About what?” I gasp.
I cry out anew.
We're reclining on my narrow bed. I'm writhing, bucking, trashing amid the sheets.
Eagan's fingers delve within my intimate curls to stroke my swollen nub of flesh.
“Let go, again. For me,” he encourages.
My body bows with bliss and surrenders once more, then it collapses on the mattress, subdued but sated.
Through teary eyes I watch the shadows and the streetlights billow and blend on the walls, while Eagan dusts kisses across my mouth, my neck, my breasts. He edges alongside me and his erection jerks against my leg.
“Your nipples are just as I've imagined them. Deep pink on the milky-white canvas of your skin,” he utters gently.
Even as the waves of pleasure subside, Eagan cups my mound in his palm.
“I want to see you,” he asserts, his eyes gleaming in the semi-darkness.
“You can't,” I breathe.
“Why not?”
“Do you remember when you used to call me fur-ball?”
He laughs. “Now, I have t
o see you,” he says.
“Not tonight. Please,” I tell him hurriedly.
He brushes a tender kiss over my lips, then he lays his cheek on my breast. His hand remains possessively pressed against my still-throbbing sex.
I link my arms around his neck, and I pull him closer to my chest.
“Eagan? What about you? I mean, you didn't-”
“Tonight is for you,” he cuts in. “Tomorrow night in my bed, our bed, every inch of me is yours. To love. To pleasure. And every inch of you is mine,” he finishes.
The promising thought thaws the ice underneath my skin, and lulls me to sleep.
Dreams reveal facts about ourselves that we ignored. Dreams help us see hidden truths. Dreams, sometimes, are just soothing songs.
I'm eleven and I'm standing close to the edge of a huge pond. I'm wearing a yellow sundress. My hair is short.
Eagan is standing on the other side of the pond. He's wearing black sweatpants and nothing else. He's holding a purple umbrella, because it is raining; but I don't feel the raindrops against my skin and I'm not cold, for Eagan's presence warm me.
“My parents are leaving. They have an important job to do. Their photos will change the world,” I tell him.
A Veil of Glass and Rain Page 9
